


The Fiddler Dejected, The Fiddler Resurrected

by MadameMorganLeFay



Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-25
Updated: 2015-05-25
Packaged: 2018-04-01 03:10:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4003597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MadameMorganLeFay/pseuds/MadameMorganLeFay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ethan Gold picks himself up after his break-up with Justin. Because life always carries on. </p><p>Canon-Compliant One-Shot, set post 3x 08.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Fiddler Dejected, The Fiddler Resurrected

****

Why?

Why did he screw up?

For the millionth time, Ethan Gold stared at his apartment’s peeling walls, hoping that today, he’d finally get an answer.

Six weeks. Six fucking weeks since Justin Taylor stormed out, and still no peace of mind. The past didn’t live as images anymore, but tears, recriminations, lost love. Or maybe he couldn’t picture the betrayal on Justin’s face, or the ring still sitting on his table, rejected by its owner. Hell, his whole apartment seemed alien these days; he drifted through like a ghost in his own world with only a violin for company.  

Some company, though. His fingers felt like lead on the strings, making double stops impossible, and his musical expression sounded stale. Not the skill expected of a violinist who aspired to greater things.

Just one fucking mistake! What the hell did Justin expect- Superman? Everything had happened so fast; the successful performance, the recognition he’d craved since childhood… He felt like flying from the top of the stairs, knowing he’d never fall. The night had gone to plan, every single note, and the audience in raptures at the end of it. They demanded three encores- three!

Ethan Gold was King of the World.

Then, a man sidled up to him out of the shadows, with plump lips and eyes that saw more than a Violinist. Eyes that wanted to devour him- perhaps in the lobby, in front of everyone else. Ethan had never known such greed, and his body reacted without hesitation, before thinking. Now he knew it was possible to think sex within seconds of meeting someone…

_“Your performance was… inspiring, Mr Gold…”_

_“Uh… thanks. Hours of practice paid off- a little con modo in places, but that can’t be helped. We all strive for perfection, but never reach it.”_

_“You’ve got a pretty way with words too. Perhaps we could… discuss more about your performance… elsewhere?”_

Oh, he was going to hell from there! Ethan remembered watching his admirer’s lips, wondering what it might be like to suck them, and then let his hands wander…

Could he have resisted, thought of Justin then? He wanted to say yes- that he’d considered the consequences of his actions, but was too far gone to take decisive action. That he valued his relationship and wasn’t cheap enough to be bought with flowers and pretty words…

_“Sure… I’ll be headed back soon. Come to my dressing room around 10…”_

 

**~ooooOOOOoooo~**

 

He’d remember Harrisburg for all the wrong reasons: kneeling, drenched in sweat as he made love to his admirer amongst twisted sheets. Moonlight spilled onto their entwined bodies, the only witness to his treachery. He couldn’t hear his own thoughts over their moans, let alone the warning flaring in his head of being caught red-handed by his agent. Fuck that, he’d insisted, thrusting deeper inside the admirer. Fuck the agent, fuck the violin and the homophobic mainstream audience.

And on that note, he’d reached the dizzying heights of release and swooped back down to earth. They’d laughed afterwards, amazed at their own daring. Imagine what everyone would think, knowing that prodigy Ethan Gold loved ass! They’d giggled a lot, pulling shocked expressions, and clutching their chests. Far better than facing the real repercussions of being caught with his pants down.

God, the world was so fucked up!

_“People think I’m just wrapped up in music- and of course I am. But… I know things about the world, and how miserable people make it. Like judging someone based on who they sleep with; it’s why I almost didn’t sign this damn contract, you know?”_

Suddenly the conversation changed from playful to sombre. He poured his heart out to this nameless beauty, detailing every frustration, every passion he’d ever held and ever would. He spoke of politics, and art, and society, and coming out to his parents. He recalled how the winter bit his fingers as he played on street corners, and trudging home to a dilapidated apartment and college assignments due first thing next day. It must have been midnight when his tirade against life ended, and yet the admirer said nothing.

_“Sorry; I tend to ramble sometimes. Composers were awfully shy, you know. That’s why they expressed themselves in music. I’m like that- awkward, but… fucking brilliant!”_

The admirer laughed at that, and it wasn’t the sound of a sycophant, but honest laughter from someone who clearly enjoyed his company. Laughter that coaxed Ethan out of his shell, made him lean forward for another kiss…

_“I want to see you again, Mr Gold.”_

_“I… My agent…”_

_“Please.”_

_“No; it’s really too risky. The press want to devour me. They’ll be everywhere waiting for the perfect shot, and it if ever came out that…”_

_“You don’t want to see me.”_

_“No! I mean… I wouldn’t mind doing this again, but I- we- have to be careful…”_

_“Is there someone else?”_

Back in the present, Ethan clenched his fists and stared up at the ceiling, willing himself to pretend he’d taken the honest route. Perhaps Justin might still be here, lounging naked on the couch, drawing. Or making hot chocolate, or playing with Wolfgang, or…

_“I’m… I’m single.”_

The night breeze had whistled, ruffling his hair, and the moon hid behind a cloud.

 

**~ooooOOOOoooo~**

 

Days dragged on for longer than twenty-four hours.

Yet he still counted them with chalk marks on the wall where his landlord wouldn’t see. A week equalled a century, yet he didn’t remember the when, where or how.

Only his backpack reminded him of college, essays on counterpoint and the never-ending drone of Professor Anderson as he waxed lyrical about Brahms’s Violin Concerto.

Practicing never stopped. In his spare time, he spent hours playing until his fingers ached from arpeggio’s in C sharp minor. One day he performed his entire repertoire whilst the neighbours screamed obscenities at him through the flimsy walls. He delivered Bach, Vivaldi and Beethoven- amongst others- with toneless grace and absent-minded dexterity. Even by his standards, his playing might have warranted a standing ovation.

But he’d never know; only the spiders and his cat listened.

When dusk yielded to night, he prowled his apartment, searching for signs of Justin. And each time, he gave up, slumped onto his bed with a bottle of wine he couldn’t afford. Six weeks, and all he’d found was a strand of hair the colour of morning sunlight… and a half empty paint pot.

Justin certainly knew how to exit in style.

The worst thing was his complacency the night after their argument. Walking home from College thinking that Justin might have changed his mind, perhaps even forgiven him. That they might talk, at least, and he could conjure up the apology of a lifetime. Later, they would fall into each other’s arms, stronger than ever.

When he opened the door to resounding silence, his dreams shattered. Gone were the hoodies strewn over his couch, the paintbrushes lying next to his dishes, the allergy medicine, the half-eaten cereal bars. Justin’s deodorant no longer sat next to Ethan’s violin rosin, nor did his sketchbooks jostle for space next to piles of music scores. Ethan saw no socks lying on the floor, or essay drafts scrunched up next to the rubbish. Even the half chewed pencils had disappeared from every nook and cranny.

They might as well have never met.

 

**~ooooOOOOoooo~**

 

What was Justin doing now?

Did he pine away over wine, wishing he’d never left?

Ha! Wishful thinking- where would anyone be without it? Of course Justin didn’t regret leaving, else he’d a funny way of showing it.  

So… here ended a happy tale.

Now he had to pick himself up and consider the rest of his life; whether he believed it or not, he still had one. College resumed tomorrow, and he was running low on manuscript books. His rent was due next week, he needed to buy more pasta, tidy his apartment and order some new violin strings… Not to mention future recitals, concerts, advertising, selling CD’s. Justin had to wait for now, regardless of what his heart said.

Hopefully, they wouldn’t run into each other…

 

**~ooooOOOOoooo~**

 

A couple of days later, he ventured outside.

Nothing had changed. Why should it? Did the sun care whether Ethan Gold had a boyfriend or not? Did the trees, roads or bridges care? Would this new development hinder the businessmen, the lawyers, the students, or even the dustmen?

Of course, no one batted an eyelid.

Anyone who did greet him lived in his block, and their version of _“Morning”_ ran along the lines of:

_“Hey, Paganini; stop playing that fucking screech box after nine pm! How many times do I have to tell you? Or do I have to pound the fucking wall to dust?”_

He visited his friends, who all lived in the section of Pittsburgh with Greek style buildings, and Corvettes lined up along the kerbs. He imagined they’d be too absorbed with upcoming music competitions to remember when he’d introduced Justin… but no. The first thing Carla Shakes asked when he turned up on her doorstep was:

_“Where’s your imaginary boyfriend?”_

_“Yes,”_ James Steiner said, ushering him into the living room, _“the one whose idea of civilized conversation is boasting about blow jobs?”_

Gregory Landler laughed, swirling his champagne flute. _“Oh yes- him. Smoking indoors, would you believe? Doesn’t he know it causes cancer?”_

_“Where is he, then?”_

Ethan swallowed, feeling blood roar in his ears. As he opened his mouth, Carla’s eyes widened, and she clicked her tongue. One by one, his friends shook their heads, averting their eyes, as though they expected this all along. _Fuckers_! Masters of the tactful silence that screams, _“I told you so”_! Since when did they all congregate to decide what was best for him behind his back? All of a sudden, their world seemed miles away from his own reality, and he questioned how they’d become friends in the first place.

Because he was a Violin prodigy who’d won a Scholarship. A tolerable addition to their social circle because he copied their accents, and could critique French movies.  

_“Well, you have a performance coming up in next month…”_

Just like that, Justin was forgotten- as he wished, yet for all the wrong reasons. He tried not to glare at Carla, or the chandeliers, or anyone else.

_“A challenging schedule- you’re leaning more towards the Baroque side, I see. I’m more of a Romantic myself, although I’ll tolerate some Beethoven…”_

_“Well…”_ His voice sounded hollow, _“Bach wrote music of outstanding musical depth for the violin. I mean, his “Chaconne” is widely considered some of the greatest work for the instrument!”_

Gregory pursed his lips. _“I’ve always found Bach a little formulaic for my tastes. Anyone with a rudimentary knowledge of counterpoint can see where his music’s going…”_

Yes, Ethan decided on the long trek home, he needed new friends.

 

**~ooooOOOOoooo~**

 

A week later, Pittsburgh shivered; winter was arriving.

The buildings looked greyer than normal, and cruel winds bit his fingers whenever he dared step outside. People hurried to and fro, forever cranky and clutching coffee cups. They looked like dead men walking.

Not the type of day for an afternoon walk, but Ethan didn’t keep time like the rest. Class ended at lunchtime, where he’d made conversation with a cellist- Elena- who struggled with scales. She’d heard of his Harrisburg concert and congratulated him without trying to sneak an autograph or extract juicy details about his life. He found himself suggesting they meet up again, thrilled to be able to speak to someone without pretending to be sophisticated or mature. He could just be… Ethan.

No promises of flowers or French cheese, either.

Even better, he’d not run into Justin.  Not that he was particularly interested, but still…

Sniffing the crisp winter air, he marvelled at how far he’d come since playing Beethoven sonatas for forty bucks a night. Sometimes fifty, if he was lucky. Now he performed in front of audiences where women wore jewels sown into their dresses and men would never be seen without tuxes. He mingled with art collectors, and socialites- who, from his estimation, did very little other than attend parties with other wealthy people.

Still, at least people genuinely appreciated him! His grandfather, his parents would be so proud! Perhaps they’d read the news already; he’d have to write to them soon. From a concentration camp to respect, recognition…

For the first time in weeks, Ethan risked a smile. He deserved it, after all. Fame and fortune chose few stars; ingratitude on the basis of his personal life was out of the question. Even if his satisfaction only lasted a fleeting moment, even if it was eclipsed by his loneliness, he _had_ to savour it. His grandfather had clung to his violin in the depths of despair and human suffering- and a break up couldn’t compare.

Still, his heart ached.

So he smiled again, and nodded when he passed Bertha, passing her a spare twenty. He still wasn’t rich, but it was the most he could do for the only person who’d encouraged him from the start. He promised to come back and play for her one of these days. No matter how much money he made, he couldn’t forget his roots to urban Pittsburgh.

Allowing fame to make him arrogant had cost him a lover.

 

**~ooooOOOOoooo~**

 

Liberty Avenue loomed in front of him without warning. She glittered with unabashed pride, smelled like perfume and sex… even in the afternoon.

The gay scene had never suited him; he hated thumping bass. Neither could he imagine himself in jeans so tight they suffocated his balls, gyrating against other men until one in the morning. Liberty Avenue screamed _“Sex is urgent! Sex is primal! Have as much sex as you want here!”_ \-  but Ethan had been taught to view the intimate act with respect; something to be shared with a partner, a memory worth treasuring. Did half the inhabitants even remember who they slept with last night?

No, this wasn’t his scene.

But he hadn’t wandered here out of choice; Liberty Avenue chose him. She symbolised the day an impeccably groomed man strode past him and dropped a hundred dollars in his violin case with a shrug.

_“Hey! You just dropped a hundred dollars in my case!”_

_“Says “Starving student”…_

Next minute, he was drinking coffee with the most beautiful man he’d ever seen, who wore leather gloves, a cashmere overcoat and a sense of superiority. A man who ordered expensive coffee, chucked a tip on the table and leaned back in his chair like he owned the joint. And the way he spoke: his soft drawl crept over Ethan’s skin, made him want to lean closer. The kind of voice that could make the most mundane fact in the world captivating.

Like an advert with a violinist strolling past playing Paganini’s Cantabile in D Major…

_“That’s on my CD!”_

_“No kidding; it’s one of my favourites…”_

Shaking his head in retrospect, Ethan realized Brian Kinney excelled at lying through his teeth. Isn’t that what salesmen did, after all? _“Here’s a superb product you won’t be able to live without: and here’s the small print…”_ Certainly didn’t harm the bank balance.

No doubt Brian planned their encounter; how he’d found out about Justin fucking around behind his back remained a mystery, but the coin must have dropped somehow. And he’d been willing to spend a hundred dollars just to size up his competition, knowing full well Justin would turn up for work, see Brian sitting with Ethan and then—

Busted!

What a weasel.

 

**~ooooOOOOoooo~**

 

Boyfriends tend not to make their mark. Anyone can break up, and move onto the next guy, knowing that despite what they thought, the last man wasn’t anything special. After all, he might have been a quilt-hogging couch potato whose only ambition in life was to reach the next level on _“Temple Run”_.

_But imagine replacing an Adonis._

Ethan huddled into his coat, and wandered down the Avenue. Yes… even now, he could only think of Brian Kinney as a spectacle- detached from reality. A man who felt destined for greater things, who acted as though Pittsburgh was only a stopping point. But for what?

Perhaps Brian’s never-ending ambition provoked their second meeting in the middle of Bach on an Arctic night where he learnt _“there’s nothing noble about being poor.”_ Why would Brian of all people see potential in him, so much as to say, _“you’re good”_ , to suggest he pursue his career? Who could tell? Brian hid his meanings by avoiding further questions, or averting his eyes whilst he lied.

No one could be generous to the man who’d stolen their boyfriend, surely. So the gesture HAD to be an ill-disguised attempt to woo Justin back. Brian Kinney, of all people, simply didn’t know how to help people- or at the very least, he did it to inflate his ego.

Yes, that was it.

 

**~ooooOOOOoooo~**

 

Yet, amongst the neon lights and glitter, Ethan learnt one night that The Great God Kinney was but a man.

Who could forget the way Brian’s eyes widened as he and Justin walked out of Babylon together…

In front of a crowd.

On a night Brian had planned to the last detail… simply to please his boyfriend.

He’d be heartless if he didn’t feel uncomfortable reliving the night- and Justin never mentioned it again. Strangely, Brian said nothing, either. One might have thought it never occurred at all, and yet… Everyone knew. How did Brian deal with such knowledge? Did he laugh it off, or bury it into his subconscious, hoping it would disappear? Did he realize the opening of Rage would forever be associated with being dumped in front of gay Pittsburgh, his crown crashing to the ground? Had he hidden away for a few days, or was it business as usual?

Who knew?

One thing stood out to Ethan, though. He’d been walking up the street one day to see Brian and Justin walking together, deep in discussion. There were brilliant posters advertising an upcoming Carnival in every window for several blocks; clearly Brian pulled out all the stops to put on a show. Money had obviously changed hands, because Justin had been up half the night, insistent on creating the perfect poster.

Interrupting by kissing Justin seemed logical. He hated seeing them walking so close, and wanted to stake his claim because he could. The gesture worked; as they parted, he saw Brian pursing his lips, trying to ignore them.

 _“I was just admiring your boyfriend’s art…”_ The soft drawl returned, but Ethan heard something forced in Brian’s tone.

 _“An artist always succeeds when he has someone he loves to inspire him!”_ It was the perfect _“he’s mine, now!”_ \- and why not? Brian had everything; looks, money, success- you name it. Ethan Gold had a violin and a cat, yet Justin had chosen him from every Mr. Smith as a boyfriend. Standing there, parading this under Brian’s nose drove his point home, and he felt a thrill in his chest as his words were met with a subdued silence.

_“So I’ve heard.”_

 

**~ooooOOOOoooo~**

 

Ethan couldn’t gloat anymore.

He’d made it halfway down Liberty Avenue, watching a few people scurrying past, drowned in scarves and overcoats. The clouds threatened to snow; he’d be better off headed back to his apartment, where at least the heating would only be a few degrees warmer than this wind… Still, memories kept him occupied as he strolled past shops advertising the kinkiest arts known to man, and the odd police car littering the road.

Funny. They’d not been here before. Must be something to do with the Mayoral Elections; he’d heard speeches about cleaning up the streets and family values. Politicians talk; the more they spoke, the more they hoped the electorate would ignore their incompetence. Guess what? There was still poverty, racism, war, crime… The list went on and on. Might as well stay at home playing his violin; nobody to lie to him, there.

Let everyone else vote for a brighter future that would never come.

 

**~ooooOOOOoooo~**

 

He felt an absolute fool for peering into a shop window once he saw Brian Kinney emerging from the Liberty Diner.

This time, Brian was accompanied by a smaller man who treated him like a God; nodding, smiling at every turn. However Brian himself seemed distracted, unaware of everything around him. He didn’t shiver like everyone else, neither did he stare at the ground to avoid the wind.  Nor did he need to worry about fatigue- not with a large to-go cup of coffee wedged in his gloved hand.

Ingenious.

Ethan wondered whether he could cross the road without being noticed. However, a furtive glance to his right proved that this side was largely deserted; Brian would spot him in seconds. Great. Apart from meeting Justin, he had no desire to run into the Snake who’d spent the past couple of months skulking in the background, hoping for a chance to end their relationship.

Well; it took two to tango. He hadn’t forced himself upon Justin; he’d been honest from the start. Any insinuation of deeper feelings between them had been returned.  How could he resist?

Unlike Brian, he never prioritised his ego over saying _“I love you”_ , or characterised romance as a sign of weakness. Why wouldn’t Justin want him as a replacement- hell, as an upgrade! He produced flowers, and chocolates and sonata’s- how exactly had Brian proven his own supposed… _affection?_

The voices drifted nearer, and Ethan pressed himself up against the window pane, hoping the burglar alarm wouldn’t go off inside. Staring at dildo’s and whips singled him out as a classified sex addict for starters… Or perhaps people didn’t care on good old Liberty Avenue? What would Carla, James and Gregory say if they saw him here, trying to evade attention?

_“… and sales of the new Superman are up thirty-three percent…”_

_“That’s thirty-three percent more teenagers spending their pocket money on comic books rather than studying for end of term tests…”_

Ethan would drink his own piss before believing Brian cared about anyone’s end of term tests, let alone the condition of teenagers in America. Another mocking comment, then? Just like pretending to love Paganini’s Cantabile. And why did his voice sound so light, carefree? What made him stare at the sky every so often, or his shoes, or the cars? Or stop and lean against a lamp post? Didn’t he have work today?

_“Oh shut up Brian; you used to love Superman when you were younger- or have you forgotten? You bootlegged the videos so we could watch them Saturday night round Ma’s house!”_

_“Yeah… I also bought your first comic when you got grounded for smoking in the bike sheds at school…”_

_“Remember when we stuffed old clothes down our sweaters to try and get Superman’s six pack? You made the best ones, and--”_

_“--Ah… the days of youth and innocence. Now you can pay an extortionate premium to use the gym facilities- funny how things turn out, isn’t it, Michael?”_

_“Michael”_ huffed, his nostalgic smile disappearing. _“Alright… you don’t have to tell me you’re bored.”_

 _“I’m not bored, Mikey; I was just… thinking about work.”_ Brian chewed his lips and glanced elsewhere so fast Ethan was sure anything but work played on his mind.

_“Yeah? What kind of work is that? The one that pays your bills, or ploughing into Justin’s ass for the millionth time?”_

The wind howled and snowflakes began to drift from the clouds, fluttering onto cars, buildings, lone passers-by… Winter had finally arrived.  Ethan’s heart froze, caught in the silence following Michael’s demand, aching to hear what dreadful words would follow.

Brian said nothing.

 

**~ooooOOOOoooo~**

 

Had he failed?

Did one night in the arms of another man justify returning to Brian Kinney? Had he been played all along as a suitable alternative, only to be thrown away for making one mistake? Was this latest development the result of Justin’s secret longing for his old flame?

So… After the rants against their open relationship, Justin had run back to the very man he’d been determined never to mention again not long ago. Well… What could he say? If Justin had found some other pedestrian boyfriend, then he might have been able to move, to speak… to think. But Brian again? Seriously?

Why?

Had Brian decided to stop sleeping with other men? Had he decided that there was nothing wrong with buying flowers, or appreciating Justin, or spending the night in together? According to Justin, those things would never happen: _“He takes me for granted; I’m supposed to present my ass to him when he wants, and then just sit back whilst he fucks his way around town. If he wants to go to Babylon, I have to get dressed; he never thinks to ask what I want to do…”_

No, he was missing something. A vital link that bonded them; one _he_ couldn’t provide. The looks? The feeling of being ploughed in the ass by Brian Kinney? No, Justin craved love, acceptance, security. Or… maybe his ex-boyfriend (God, how it _hurt_ to say that!) had changed, deciding that he’d rather take familiar crap from Brian, than be betrayed by someone he’d only dated for a few months… But no! Even _that_ didn’t make sense!

Glued to the window-pane, Ethan watched Michael shake Brian’s arm. _“Listen to me! Are you listening?”_

_“You’ve stolen so many of my catch-phrases I might have to sue, Mikey…”_

_“Look… I hope you know what you’re doing…”_

_“What?”_

_“Don’t pretend you don’t know! Your head is in the clouds! The only time you stare at the sky is when you’re being sucked off in an alleyway! What happened to the focused Brian Kinney who never misses a trick and constantly shoves his philosophy down everyone’s throat?”_

_“I’m right here.”_

_“Yeah, well act like it. Just because you’re… back with him doesn’t mean he’s good for you. Don’t forget what he did to you last time--”_

And Ethan, even in the darkened glass of the window, saw Brian flinch, and bite his lip.

 _“Exactly,”_ Michael said, ignoring his friend’s discomfort. _“So watch your back this time, or he’ll be fucking a hot cellist next. Or--”_

Brian chucked the coffee cup into a nearby trash can, and walked off.

Ethan moved away from the window, also determined to leave… Which was also the moment Brian turned back.

How to describe the scorching resentment flaring from Brian’s eyes? If looks could kill, Brian Kinney would be in jail. But Ethan detected a flicker of fear lingering there too- a fear of being revealed to outsiders. Did he realize his conversation might have been overheard? Or did he hate being reminded why Justin ditched him? Ethan felt sure the real answer was a mixture of the two. No sooner than he spotted the change, Brian plastered a fake smile on his face, said, _“Fancy meeting you here, Ian,”_ and hurried off again, his head bowed.

Without thinking, Ethan heard himself shout, _“You always loved him, didn’t you?”_

The wind howled again, louder than before, and whipped at his scarf. More snow fell now, still melting over the sidewalk and over car bonnets, but by next morning, the world would be painted white. Perfect weather for drawing, but not for practicing the violin.

And if Brian heard his question? As always, he pretended not to notice.

And, as always, his silence confirmed everything Ethan never wanted to hear. Everything that proved without a shadow of a doubt that, regardless of Brian’s shortcomings, Justin wouldn’t return.

 

**~ooooOOOOoooo~**

 

Surprisingly, the heating in his apartment was more than adequate- and he could cross making hot chocolate with numb fingers off his bucket list.

Wincing, he settled down on the couch, watching Wolfgang lick himself clean. What uncomplicated lives cats had: no power of speech, no politics, and no heartbreak. Just milk, fish and the keys to the city. Humans got saddled with back-breakers like emotion, and honesty…

Leaning back, he sipped, trying to forget that Justin used to add two teaspoons of sugar. He’d only used one.

Snow drifted onto his window-sill, flake by flake. Perhaps from outside, his apartment block resembled a Christmas postcard, the kind you sent to your grandparents to show off what a wonderful holiday you had. Justin would have loved it; he’d be smiling, pencil in hand, ready to make a copy. Alone, however, Ethan could only play music to while away the hours. Beethoven, perhaps? Tranquil enough, given the right piece. But first he needed to get his fingers back into working order…

Life continued, anyhow.

Tomorrow, he’d order those new violin strings, help Elena with her scales, and then pay the rent. His landlord would be pleasantly surprised to see Mr Gold’s contribution made on time, and not a week late, as usual. In fact, he decided, he’d pay in advance from now on, until he scraped together enough money from performing to move out of this junk box and into a nicer block. Hell, one day he’d have his own house- detached, situated somewhere between the countryside but close enough to civilization…

Was he dreaming again? Perhaps, but in retrospect, at least he was promising himself, and not an impressionable other half. At least he understood the value of honesty- that would compel him to reach his goals, if nothing else could. It had been a difficult lesson to learn, but wisdom always came at a price. The wandering and lonely nights would continue for quite a while, but for the first time, he accepted his own powerlessness. Nothing in the world would change Justin’s decision. No one would wait to comfort him; even his own so-called friends didn’t care. And Ethan Gold deserved a new beginning, shaped by himself. A beginning where anything could happen, as long as he put his mind to it, and didn’t mislead other people for the sake of conjuring up fantasy.

So… he’d have the house, and the career, and…

Someday… _someday_ he’d find a man who loved him as much as Brian Kinney loved Justin Taylor.   

 

**~ooooOOOOoooo~**

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading.
> 
> * * *
> 
> I like Ethan. I think he was a well-meaning, if rather idealistic guy who made a mistake.
> 
> Feel free to leave any feedback/concrit as usual.


End file.
